The scent of disinfectant was overwhelming in the hospital corridor. I stood in a sterile white maze, feeling a bit lost. The prepared divorce papers slipped from my coat pocket and fluttered to the floor.
Eleanor's sharp eyes spotted them. She stepped forward, snatched them up, and after reading the contents, slapped them across my face. The edge of the paper cut my cheek, leaving a fine, stinging scratch.
Her well-maintained face was twisted with disgust. "You venomous woman! After all these years, how has the Vaughn family ever wronged you? Tell me!"
"For the sake of that worthless gallery of yours, Julian fought with us so many times, and we put up with it! Now you can't even stand two innocent children?"
"Since you're so eager to leave, then get out! Get out of my sight!"
I silently bent down and picked up the dusty papers. The door to the PICU opened, and Julian walked out, his eyes red. "The children… they're safe."
He looked at me with the fury of someone staring at a murderer. "Clara, this time you've really gone too far."
Trembling, I handed him the divorce papers. "Let's… end this."
His pupils constricted as he stared at me. "Are you sure?"
"I'm tired," I said, holding back tears. "I'm afraid of what else might happen if I stay."
"Fine! Just fine!" he snarled, snatching the papers from my hand. He pulled a pen from his pocket, viciously signed his name, and then threw the pen to the ground. It snapped in two with a sharp crack.
"You got what you wanted, Clara!"
I returned to what was once our penthouse in Manhattan.
Maria Lopez, our housekeeper of many years, ran over in a panic. "Ma'am! Your face…"
I looked around and realized that my favorite Rothko original was gone from the living room, and the enormous wedding portrait had also vanished. My private studio had been completely cleared out, replaced by a playroom filled with luxury brand baby supplies.
In this home, all traces of me had been erased. Maria nervously wrung her hands.
"It was… Miss Jensen. She moved in while she was pregnant. She said the smell of paint made her dizzy, so Mr. Vaughn had everything put away."
The lock clicked, and Julian walked in, supporting Chloe. She leaned against him, her face showing the perfect amount of surprise when she saw me.
"Mrs. Hayes, what are you doing here?"
Her tone suggested she was the lady of the house.
"Where are my things?" I stared at Julian, my voice trembling.
Julian sneered, pulling Chloe closer into his embrace. "Since we're getting a divorce, why do you still care about these things?"
Chloe approached with false sincerity, trying to take my hand. "Mrs. Hayes, please don't blame Mr. Vaughn. I was just weak during my pregnancy, and I was afraid of damaging those precious paintings…"
"Don't touch me!" I snapped, pulling my hand away as if I'd been burned.
She cried out and fell backward dramatically. Julian caught her in a flash, anxiously checking her from head to toe.
"Are you okay? Did you get hurt anywhere?"
Watching the two of them, a wave of nausea churned in my stomach. I turned and walked away.
Julian's voice, laced with anger, followed me. "Clara! You stop right there!"
I didn't look back. I didn't want him to see me in such a pathetic state.
Sometime while I was inside, a downpour had begun. I wandered aimlessly through the streets like a soulless puppet. The rain washed away the tears on my face, cold and biting.
After what felt like an eternity, I was heading to my car in the underground parking garage when two masked men cornered me.
"Well, well, isn't it Mrs. Hayes," the leader said, approaching with a lecherous grin. "Someone paid us to 'take good care' of you."
He leaned in closer and took a deep breath. "Smells so good. The abandoned wife of a star architect really is different."
My fingers fumbled for my phone, subconsciously dialing the number etched into my muscle memory. The call connected instantly. But what came through wasn't salvation—it was Julian's gentle voice.
"Don't be scared, it was just a nightmare. Go back to sleep."
He was talking to Chloe.
"Julian! Help me!"
"Clara, I don't have time to play your games right now."
The line went dead. When I tried to call back, all I got was a cold, robotic voice. Icy rainwater mixed with desperate tears, trickling into the corner of my mouth, bitter and salty.
"Go on, scream! No one's coming for you!"
The attacker's hand reached for the collar of my coat, just about to touch me. I closed my eyes, my nails digging into my palms, feeling nothing but a chilling cold.
Suddenly, a few dull thuds and the crisp sound of cracking bones exploded next to my ear, followed by agonized screams.
Thank God, the assault never came.
I opened my eyes, trembling, to see the two masked men lying twisted on the ground.
At the garage exit, a tall figure stood against the light, striding toward me through the rain. His custom-made black leather shoes stepped through puddles with unhurried elegance. The rainy night was too dark to see his face clearly.
"Can you stand?" A slender, well-defined hand reached out to me, its knuckles scraped and bloodied.
Following the hand upward, I saw a pair of bottomless eyes. In the dark night, they were as sharp as a falcon's. His face was a mask, but an almost palpable power radiated from him.
I recognized him. He was Julian's biggest business rival, a man known on Wall Street for his ruthless methods—Rhys Sterling.
I opened my mouth to thank him, but my vision suddenly went black, and my body pitched forward. His strong arms caught me effortlessly.
Before I lost consciousness completely, I caught a faint, cool scent. Ambergris.
